


When it Changes

by Rasputin18



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22097164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rasputin18/pseuds/Rasputin18
Summary: Life is all about changes, and sometimes death is as well.
Kudos: 10





	When it Changes

**Author's Note:**

> The rating may change as the story develops, I will advise when it does.

_"The best part of your story is when it changes."_   
_Bella Bloom_

Varian

Varian Wrynn stroked a strand of hair from his son's forehead where he lay against his chest. Anduin's face was remarkably peaceful, he could have been asleep. Except that he wasn't, for there was no movement of the chest, and the wound in his side still seeped blood. He bent carefully to kiss Anduin's face, his movements slow and awkward. The skin was still warm beneath his lips. Life had left his son's body only moments before. His own life would end soon enough.

"I'm sorry my son. So sorry. Sorry," he whispered, over and over as if repeating it would give the words weight. The was no credence in the words and hardly any breath. His own life was finite then, and there was an odd comfort in that he'd join in death with his beloved son.

He rested back against the wall behind him, swallowing the taste of blood and ash, the taste of defeat and loss. Around him, his city burned and the air was a miasma of the Fel. The Legion would finish its work there soon enough. He hoped the Light lay beyond the Shadowlands he'd been told about, and that Anduin and his wife would be there.

_If death waits for me, I'll meet it on my feet_ he thought, as he struggled upright. He lifted Anduin's body into arms, swaying as pain tore through him and he steadied his back against the shattered wall. There were no enemies nearby to send him onwards so he took in a deep, shuddering breath and began to walk, taking the easiest path downhill. He stumbled now and then, steadied himself, kept walking, driven on by that teeth-clenched resolve, the will that had kept him going for most of his life. 

He came to the harbor at last, where the hulls of burned ships rested in the flotsam-littered water. Still, the air there was cleaner with the afternoon onshore wind blowing the smoke away and inwards, taking away the stink of death and replacing it with life-filled, memory-invoking scents of salt and seaweed and the gulls' calls. By the time he walked onto the docks his last energies had faded and he sank down, grimly hanging onto his son as he rested against a bollard.

The sun was setting, turning the sky orange and red and he let his head sink back. He considered his life's regrets and wondered if he'd have the time to list them. But then something blocked his view and he tried to focus and thought _well, maybe not_. 

As the day faded, making a glowing ring around the figure standing before him he waited to see if the Light did indeed have a home for him beyond the veil, beyond even the Shadowlands. In time that was no time between one existence and the next he waited and finally ended.

Anduin

There had been little time as he died to wonder what would happen afterwards, but what little thought he'd given to it, he had not expected it to be so much like living.

Sensations leaked into his mind in dribs and drabs – his skin sensed the movement of air that made the hairs stand up. Then there was odour, nothing terrible, just different from smoke and blood. Sensory input expanded. The taste of mint and other herbs. The sound of water moving nearby. A bird somewhere, singing. Pleasant but nothing out of the ordinary. Finally, sight required input as well and he opened his eyes.

It took some small time for them to focus. He carefully turned his head, instinct pushing him to sit up since he was lying flat and there was pressure on his chest.

"Stay still. It will take a little time to regain your full physical…"

"Stop." The hand lifted and he blinked his eyes, trying to clear them. "Where…" He swallowed, felt a sour rush of nausea and surged sideways to vomit. The hand helped keep him stable as he emptied out the disgusting mess.

"That's alright, Anduin. It's expected. You'd swallowed a lot of blood and poisons. Yes, get rid of it all."

When he was finally done with it, he felt better. A cool damp cloth wiped his face clean and he focused on a cup placed to his lips.

"It's just water. Small sips."

He took the water in, turned his head aside and spat it out, cleaning his mouth and throat. He retched once or twice but little further came out and he closed his eyes, tired beyond belief. Something like sleep or simply unconsciousness dragged him down.

When Anduin woke again, the world was still all there and so was he. He took the time to look about. It was a tidy room, neither plain nor exotic, fresh with the smell of herbs and elixirs…a healing place. Tentative, expecting pain, he raised his right arm and placed his hand on his chest. There was none at all, which surprised him. He pushed down carefully on the place where the demon's sword had pierced him. He remembered the strike as a blow that had knocked him backwards, the terrible feeling of something foreign forcing its way into him, and then the awful pain that followed when the sword was wrenched out. But there was no pain as he touched it and his fingers registered the faint trace of the wound as if it had healed years before. His head was lying on a pillow so he could see down his body; it was covered by a light blanked and he appeared to be naked beneath it. Naked and clean and seemingly untouched by the death that he knew with absolute certainty had taken him, it only confused him more.

Something had changed. Something important. The Anduin who had lived before was gone, he knew that at some instinctive level. This Anduin was new, different. Changed. Before he could work out what had changed, he heard a door open and looked up into the Prophet's familiar features.

"Anduin, it is good to see you awake at last. Do you have any pain?"

"No, Prophet." He cleared his throat again; it was still dry and strained. "How is that?"

The Draenei helped him to sit up and collected a long white robe from a stand against the wall. "If you put this one, I will take you somewhere a little more private and comfortable, and we will talk. You have many questions, and I will do my best to answer them."

They walked together slowly through the corridors of the Exodar and Draenei paused and stared as he passed. No one spoke and Anduin didn't either. He took the time to assess himself as he followed the Prophet, noting that his body appeared somehow lighter as if he'd shed weight or become less than he had been. Of course, it could all simply be in his mind because he wasn't entirely sure he was sane. Existence seemed dreamlike, the light had an inert, hazy look to it as if he were seeing the world through glasses. Everything felt just ever so slightly wrong.

They reached a closed door finally and Velen led Anduin through. It was a tidy organised workroom with a large desk, some comfortable chairs and storage cupboards, and it was otherwise empty. The Prophet said behind the desk and Anduin took one of the chairs facing him.

"May I ask," the old draenei said, "what you remember?"

"Of recent events? Everything up to my death. At least, I presume I died."

"You did, sadly. Let us say, I and others found that unacceptable, so you were taken from Stormwind and brought here." Velen stood abruptly and went to one of the cupboards, swinging the big door open. "If you look here, Prince, you will understand more."

Puzzled, Anduin stood and turned, and stopped, frozen.

Inside the cupboard door was a full length mirror, and his reflection was perfectly clear. And perfectly wrong.

His skin, everywhere that he could see, was white, as white freshly fallen snow. His hair was more silvery white than gold but those things were the least of it. He understood, as he looked at his face, why the light had seemed so different.

His eyes were as white as his skin, except for the irises which were a pale, gleaming blue. Even the pupils were white, icy and bright. He turned to the Prophet and felt rage stir in his heart.

"I am Undead. You raised me as Undead. What evil is this?"

"I did not raise you, Prince. Calia Menethil, with the aid of Saa'ra, restored you, as you and Alfonsus Faol did for her. This was not done lightly, but it was felt that your life was precious to the Light and important to the future of Azeroth. I am sorry we could not ask your permission, but you were beyond that and a decision had to be made." He looked beyond Anduin. "Calia, please come in."

Anduin turned slowly, watching as the sister of dead Arthas stepped quietly just inside the door. Her eyes, the same as his, were fixed on his face. "Prince Anduin. I hope you will forgive us. I was unsure if it was the right thing to do but something told me you were needed. To lose you at that time was just…wrong."

He stood perfectly still, in a way that he'd never been able to before. Seconds past and then he slowly closed his eyes and opened them again. Then he held out his hand to her.

"Calia. Teach me."

She took his hand and it warm and comforting. "I will, and I'm sure you will teach me."

He spoke without turning. "What of my father, Prophet?"

There was silence and he turned to watch Velen as he looked down, then up. "It is…possible..you will meet again. That is not within my purview. I can only say, be patient, and hope."

He could learn one but the other might possibly elude him.


End file.
